Capital Run

by David Robbins

  “We heard shooting,” Rikki said.

  “Hostile natives,” Blade said, examining the antiquated chains.

  “Take off,” Rikki advised him. “You can come back and free us later.”

  “We’re leaving here together,” Blade stated.

  “Without the keys?” Rikki asked.

  “Who needs keys?” Blade tucked the Browning under his belt and handed the knife to Rikki. “Hold this.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Rikki inquired.

  “This.” Blade took hold of the chain attached to Rikki’s right wrist.

  Removing the shackle encircling Rikki’s wrist wasn’t feasible; he could do it, but he might hurt Rikki in the bargain. No, his best bet was to concentrate on the link joining the chain to the shackle. He gripped the chain in his right hand and held the shackle with his left. “This might smart,” he warned his companion.

  Rikki’s arm tensed. “Go for it.”

  Blade strained, exerting his herculean strength to its limit, pulling on the chain, his massive muscles bulging, his arms rippling with raw power.

  Rikki had adopted the horse stance, striving to facilitate Blade’s effort by staying as immobile as possible.

  Blade was gritting his teeth, his neck pulsing, the veins protruding.

  Lexine was watching the operation in wide-eyed astonishment.

  Blade could feel the chain biting into his right hand. He ignored the discomfort and heaved, thankful the chain was old and the links on the rusty side. If only they were weak enough! Sweat beaded his brow as he continued to apply pressure. Every muscle on his arms stood out in sharp relief. He closed his eyes, concentrating, channeling every iota of power into his brawny hands.

  Rikki was striving to maintain his balance. Despite his horse stance, a normally immovable posture, Blade’s awesome strength threatened to propel him from his feet.

  Blade’s sinews were at their utmost, his face a beet red, when the link affixed to the shackle on Rikki’s right wrist snapped, parting with a loud crack.

  Rikki relaxed. “You did it!” he said, elated.

  Blade wiped his perspiring brow. “One down and three to go.”

  “You should rest a bit,” Rikki advised.

  “No time for that,” Blade said. He moved sideways and applied himself to the shackle on Rikki’s left wrist. This chain was more stubborn. The perspiration was pouring from his pores, his arms trembling from his exertion, when the connecting link finally broke.

  Rikki rubbed his tender wrists, massaging the skin under the metal shackles. “Thank you,” he said to his friend.

  Blade nodded and crossed to Lex. He pulled the gag from her mouth.

  “I don’t believe it!” Lex declared. “How did you do it?”

  “They don’t make chains like they used to,” Blade remarked.

  Rikki joined them.

  “You’ll need to steady her arms,” Blade directed Rikki. He looked at Lex. “It this hurts, say the word. If I’m not careful, I could tear your arms from their sockets.”

  “Don’t worry none about me,” Lex stated. “Just get me out of here!”

  “I don’t believe you two have been formally introduced,” Rikki said as Blade took hold of the chain attached to Lexine’s right wrist. “Blade, this is Lexine. Lex, this is Blade.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Lex mentioned.

  Blade nodded and began applying himself to the chain.

  Rikki gripped Lex’s right wrist, adding support, struggling to keep Lex’s arm steady.

  Lex grimaced as Blade started straining against the chain. The edge of the metal shackle bit into her flesh, drawing a thin line of blood. Even with Rikki holding her arm, she felt as if it really would be ripped from its socket any second.

  Blade stared at the last link on the chain. He could see the rusted metal giving way and stretching. With a grunt, he wrenched the chain and was rewarded by a sharp, popping noise.

  “Only one to do,” Rikki said.

  From off in the distance, from upstairs, came the din of upraised voices.

  “They’re after us!” Lex cried. “Hurry!”

  Blade paused, gathering his energy. The clamor upstairs was growing louder. If the chain fastened to her left shackle was as sturdy as the others, it would require minutes to break.

  He didn’t have minutes to spare.

  “Hold her left arm tightly,” Blade said to Rikki, then he grinned at Lexine. “Close your eyes and count to three.”

  Lex did as he requested.

  On the count of three, Blade tightened his arms and huge chest, took a deep breath, and savagely tugged on the chain.

  Lex gasped as her left arm was jerked outward. Her left shoulder lanced with agony.

  Blade uttered a growling sound and yanked his arms in opposite directions.

  Lex groaned.

  The link abruptly burst asunder, causing Blade to stumble backwards two feet.

  “You’re free!” Rikki said to Lex.

  Lex leaned on the brick wall, holding her left arm pressed across her stomach. “Am I in one piece?” she asked, her eyes still shut.

  Rikki rubbed her sore shoulder. “How bad is it?”

  Lex opened her eyes and chuckled. “I’ll live. We’d best get the hell out of here.”

  The approaching racket was much, much closer.

  “Where are our weapons?” Blade queried Rikki.

  “I don’t know,” Rikki replied.

  “Then we’ll have to make do with the Browning and the knife,” Blade said. He glanced at Lex. “Which way?”

  Lex scanned the chamber. “I’m not sure. I haven’t been down here very often. One of these doors leads to an alley. But I can’t remember which one.”

  “Lead the way,” Blade instructed her.

  “What if I pick the wrong door?” Lex responded.

  “We’ll have to take that risk,” Blade said. “Let’s go.” He drew the Browning and motioned for them to precede him.

  Lex headed for the nearest door, Rikki by her side with the knife held in his right hand.

  Blade backed from the room, keeping his eyes on the door to the far hallway.

  The Leather Knights were pounding down the hall.

  Blade reached the door used by Lex and Rikki, turned, and darted into its dim interior.

  Not a moment too soon.

  Dozens of Leather Knights surged into the brick chamber. A great shout went up at the sight of the dangling chains.

  “They’re gone!” a man yelled above the rest. “But how?”

  “We didn’t pass ’em!” a woman bellowed. “They must have used one of the other doors!”

  Immediately the Leather Knights divided up, some taking the first recessed door, others the second, and the smallest group the last door. In a minute, the chamber was vacant.

  Far along the murky hallway and racing like the wind, Blade detected a swelling in the voices behind him as leather garbed bikers filled the narrow corridor.

  Where did this lead?

  Blade hoped the hall wasn’t a dead end. He doubted the Leather Knights would bother to take them prisoner a second time, not after what he had done to Terza and Cardew. He locked his gaze on the shadowy forms of Rikki and Lex 30 feet ahead. If they could reach the alley Lex had mentioned, they might be able to hide in a nearby building. He wished he were outdoors instead of deep under the earth. A troubling sensation of claustrophobia enveloped him.

  Spirit preserve him!

  Blade glanced over his right shoulder, but couldn’t perceive any movement to his rear.

  Good.

  They were losing the SOBs!

  Blade faced front again and pounded after Rikki and Lex—

  Rikki and Lex!

  They were gone!

  Blade stopped and peered into the gloom beyond. Had they outdistanced him? What could have happened?

  “Blade!” came a subdued cry from Rikki. “Blade! Where are you?”

  Blade twisted. Rikki’s vo
ice was coming from his left and behind him.

  “Blade!” Rikki called once more.

  “I’m here!” Blade yelled. “Where are you?”

  “Did you miss the turn?” Rikki asked.

  What turn? Blade realized he’d probably overlooked it when he had turned his head and scanned the tunnel! Now they were separated! “I must have missed it!” Blade confirmed.

  “I’ll keep talking,” Rikki shouted. “Follow my voice.”

  Blade backtracked, running full speed, searching for a fork in the hallway.

  “There’s light ahead!” Rikki was saying. “It might be the alley!”

  Blade reached a darkened bend in the hallway and discovered another branch bearing to the left. He was about to enter, but a sudden commotion rearward drew his attention.

  Leather Knights were charging toward him from the direction of the brick chamber!

  Blade hesitated. If he followed Rikki and Lex, the Leather Knights would chase after them to the alley and beyond. But if he stayed where he was, if he didn’t take the left branch, Rikki and Lex could escape unmolested.

  “There’s one of ’em!” screamed a tall woman.

  He’d been spotted! Blade turned his back on the left branch and took off, the Browning in his right hand.

  With gleeful cries, the Leather Knights ran after the giant Warrior, ignoring the left branch in their eagerness to capture Blade.

  As he raced deeper into the winding labyrinth below the library, with many of the tunnels and hallways bearing evidence of recent excavation, Blade wondered if he’d made the right move. Lit lanterns were few and far between. Often he would cover over a hundred yards in nearly complete darkness.

  Some of the Leather Knights were carrying torches or lanterns, and the swiftest of them kept their quarry in sight as they doggedly pursued him, his fleeing form always visible, but barely, at the periphery of their flickering light.

  Blade was beginning to think he might outdistance them. A grim smile touched his lips at the prospect. After he eluded them, he intended to scour the library for his weapons. Leaving St. Louis without his Bowies was unthinkable; the big knives were as much a part of him as his arms or legs.

  The Leather Knights were determinedly sticking to his heels.

  A lantern appeared directly ahead, suspended from a hook in the wall.

  A junction, Blade thought.

  But he was wrong.

  Blade slowed, expecting to find a branch or fork in the hallway. Instead, he discovered a solid brick wall.

  It was a dead end!

  Furious, he whirled, facing the converging Leather Knights. They had him right where they wanted him! Outnumbered, with nowhere to turn!

  He raised the Browning and sighted on the nearest figure, now approximately 20 yards away.

  Let them come!

  They were about to learn why the Warriors were respected and feared far and wide.

  Blade sighted and squeezed the trigger.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hickok’s amazement was plainly written all over his face. He gawked at the edifice before him, feeling as if he had stepped back through the pages of history to a prior era, to another day and age. He’d seen aged photographs of the White House in several of the books in the Family library, but the reality of actually observing the historically significant structure dwarfed the perceptions derived from viewing a picture. He could see six massive columns, formerly white but now faded and tarnished, in the middle of the building. On either side of the columns the walls were in fairly good shape, although all of the windows were broken or missing. A section of roof above the columns had caved in, littering the base of the columns with debris. “I’m in Washington, D.C.,” the dazed gunman said to himself.

  “Indeed you are,” General Malenkov confirmed.

  “But I can’t be!” Hickok declared. “How’d I get here?”

  “You were transported via helicopter,” General Malenkov explained.

  “All the way from St. Louis?” Hickok was boggled by the news. “That must be a thousand miles!”

  “About eight hundred and sixty,” General Malenkov stated. “You were unconscious the entire trip.”

  Hickok forced his mind to buckle down, to get a grip on his dilemma.

  How in the world was he going to get back to St. Louis? Eight hundred miles through hostile territory would be well-nigh unachievable. He needed time to think, to formulate a plan of action.

  “Washington is the last place you expected to be, eh?” General Malenkov said.

  Hickok nodded. “I don’t understand. I’d heard Washington suffered a direct hit during World War III.”

  “It did,” General Malenkov affirmed.

  Hickok pointed at the White House. “Then what’s that doin’ there? A direct hit would’ve leveled the city.”

  General Malenkov leaned on the metal table. “A direct strike by a conventional thermonuclear device would destroy the city, yes. But we did not use a conventional device.”

  Hickok glanced at the general. “What did you use?”

  “A neutron bomb.”

  Hickok’s brow furrowed. “A neutron bomb?”

  “Do you know what they are?” General Malenkov inquired.

  “I think I read something about ’em years ago,” Hickok said. “But I can’t recollect what it was I read.”

  “I will enlighten you,” General Malenkov offered. “To understand what happened, you must appreciate our strategy during the war. You see, Americans back then were really quite stupid. Only half of the population really believed a war was inevitable. The other half was either too absorbed in their own lives to even reflect on the likelihood of a conflict, or else they were gullible liberal fanatics who ignored our conquests worldwide and discounted all of our literature and policy statements clearly stating our goal of global domination. And even when the subject of a nuclear exchange was considered, the fools panicked. To them, a nuclear war was a worst-case scenario. Total annihilation. Radiation contaminating the environment for thousands of years to come.” The general chuckled. “Of course, the American military leaders knew better, but they could not overcome the bias and ignorance of the media elite.

  The American leaders knew we entertained no intention of destroying the country. Why should we? Soviet leaders knew how rich this land is in natural resources. At a time when we were barely able to feed our own people, why would we ruin the breadbasket of the Western Hemisphere?

  Our military leaders did use typical thermonuclear devices on carefully selected targets, but where possible we used other weapons like the neutron bomb.”

  “So what’s a neutron bomb?” Hickok queried.

  “A neutron bomb is a lot like an ordinary H-bomb, but it is not as destructive. It doesn’t have the same explosive power and produces far less fallout. Some years before the war, there was a controversy in America over the deployment of the neutron bomb in Europe. The idiotic press campaigned against the idea. Their inconsistency was incredible. They preferred to use the terribly destructive hydrogen warheads instead of the smaller, cleaner neutron variety.” General Malenkov paused. “I have diligently studied the prewar era, and I was constantly shocked by the ignorance displayed by the predominantly liberal media in America. I think their unrestrained freedom gave them an illusion of power. They believed they knew how the country should be run better than the officials elected to run it. In the U.S.S.R.,” he boasted, “we had no such problem.”

  “So Washington, D.C., is still standin’,” Hickok said, gazing at the White House.

  “We knew how important this city was to the American public,” General Malenkov revealed. “What a monumental psychological victory to occupy the capital of our hated enemy! The neutron bomb inflicted damage to many of the buildings, but otherwise Washington emerged from the war much as it was before our invasion began.” He nodded toward the White House. “No one is permitted to live there now. It stands as a symbol of American decadence and capitalistic
corruption. This room we are in is located in our North American Headquarters. It was constructed on the south lawn of the White House, both as a symbol of our victory and a reminder to the American people of our superiority.”

  “Don’t you Russians believe in modesty?” Hickok cracked.

  General Malenkov frowned. “What do we have to be modest about? We won, didn’t we?”

  “Did you?” Hickok countered.

  “What do you mean?” General Malenkov demanded.

  “I’ve been doin’ some thinkin’,” Hickok said. “And some things don’t add up. For instance, why didn’t you take over the whole country? Where’d you stop— at the Mississippi? How much of the country do you control anyway?”

  General Malenkov straightened. “You ask too many questions, Hickok. I can’t answer them all now. Why don’t you rest, and we will continue our conversation later?”

  “Whatever you say,” Hickok stated, and stared out the window.

  General Malenkov took a step toward the door, positioned at the opposite end of the room from the window.

  “Pardon me, my general,” Lieutenant Voroshilov made bold to speak, resorting to Russian so the fool in the buckskins could not understand.

  General Malenkov stopped. “What is it?” he responded in kind.

  Lieutenant Voroshilov indicated Hickok with a nod of his head. “I don’t trust him,” he said. “Why don’t we subject the idiot to proper interrogation and be done with this nonsense? Why do you treat him so politely? You know he must be an enemy of the people?”

  “Of course I know it,” General Malenkov said with a trace of annoyance, irritated his subordinate would presume to challenge his judgment.

  “Then why not inject him with our serum?” Lieutenant Voroshilov suggested. “Or hand him over to the Committee for State Security? They will make him tell the truth.”

  “Certainly they would,” General Malenkov agreed, “but he might not survive the interrogation. The KGB are not gentle in their work.” He sighed and draped his right arm over Voroshilov’s shoulders. “My dear Nikolai,” he said paternally, “how do you expect to advance in rank if you will not exercise the discretion required of a senior-grade officer? Yes, I could have permitted the KGB to take him. But what if he didn’t survive their cross-examination? Where would that leave us? I receive the impression he is very strong, very disciplined. He would undoubtedly resist our efforts, force our interrogators to apply harsher measures. Many prisoners have died before they could be compelled to tell all they know.